


Blood-Red Rose

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Death by Airway Obstruction, F/M, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Haunting, Horror, M/M, No Non-Con In This Story, Slutshaming Character, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11328600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi loves Anakin Skywalker with all his soul, though he knows Anakin cannot reciprocate.He'd hoped he'd die without Anakin finding out... but Anakin's seen the rose petals he's been choking up, and there's no way in hell his former Padawan is going to not ask questions.It's only a matter of time.





	Blood-Red Rose

**Author's Note:**

> We have a character in Star Wars canon named Rose. I'm still waiting to hear back from Pablo as to whether that means roses exist in Star Wars, or whether “rose” means sunset in ancient Alderaanian.
> 
> All joking aside, I first encountered Hanahaki not where one would expect, but in Torchwood. And it had very little to do with Hanahaki, except for the method of death. When I ran into the term Hanahaki and saw the definition, my response was, “Oh. Yeah. I've seen that, on Torchwood. Evil fairies kill people they don't like that way. What in hell does it have to do with love?”
> 
> It was only a matter of time.
> 
> Also: This is near the end of the war, so Anakin is 22, and Obi-Wan started feeling drawn to him a year earlier. Technical adulthood all around. And since Anakin was knighted at 19, Obi-Wan wasn't falling in love with his current Padawan either.

 

 

“Who is it?”

Exhaustion was fighting for every muscle in Obi-Wan's body, and he just wanted Anakin to go away, be done, not _have_ this conversation right now—

Because if they did, the truth might end up revealed.

“Satine is dead, and I thought she loved you back anyway.”

“Anakin, please. It's a myth. The condition is real, yes, but to be caused by unrequited love? Utterly unscientific, preposterous. Now, please, if you'll let me sleep—”

But his former Padawan made no move to leave his tent.

Obi-Wan sighed, bone-weary. “I know you want to help. I appreciate it, I really do. But right now, what I need is  _sleep._ ”

For a long moment there was silence in the dim murk of evening, and when Anakin finally spoke, his voice was unsteady.

“It's going to kill you, you know.”

_I know._

“Anakin, I promise you I'm fighting it.”

Anakin took a step closer, crouching down to touch the petals. His hand recoiled as his fingers came away bloodied.

_What? Did you think I could have flowers growing in my body and_ not  _have blood involved?_

Obi-Wan had washed one of the petals off, once. It had been white.

No one would ever guess it by looking at them.

“Is it Cody? Rex? Windu...  _Ventress_ ?”

“No, Anakin.”

Anakin sat on the edge of his cot, trying to peer at his face in the dark. “Luminara?”

“Force, Anakin, are you going to list every Jedi in the Order in the hopes that it might be one of them? With ten thousand of us it's going to take you a while. Can we skip to the part where I go to sleep—”

“Obi-Wan, I  _get_ it, okay? If it's one of the clones, I can understand not wanting to admit it, between their actual age and lack of experience— I understand. But if you don't say something, you're going to  _die,_ and that  _can't_ be right.”

“It's not a clone.”

“It? You won't even tell me—”

“This isn't something  _new,_ Anakin,” Obi-Wan lied, injecting annoyance into his tone. “With the war I can't seem to hide it anymore, but it's always been there. It got worse after his death, and through the years... it's not something you can  _fix,_ Anakin.”

Anakin stared at him. “ _Qui-Gon_ ?”

“Please don't gloat. Just go away.” The lie burned through his soul, painful, he couldn't quite breathe—

A single cough didn't solve the problem. He choked and hacked, leaning up to try to spit the petals onto the floor while Anakin rubbed his back.

Exhausted, he fell back to the cot, the bitter taste of the petals cruel in his mouth.

 

* * *

 

“Why did you lie to him?”  
It was Qui-Gon who sat on the edge of his bed, softly glowing in the night.

Obi-Wan groaned. “Not you too.”

“Obi-Wan, he has a right to know.”  
“And I have a right not to say,” Obi-Wan hissed. “He does not love me, he  _cannot_ love me, and I would not have him bear that weight. I will die, and I will  _not_ have him thinking it's his fault.”

Qui-Gon watched him, sorrow in his eyes. “You feel ashamed, my Obi-Wan.”

“I'm  _old,_ Qui-Gon. I was supposed to be his  _teacher._ A brother, not— it's disgusting. Repulsive.  _Vile,_ what I feel.”

“None of that is true. He is an adult. You are not so very old. You did what you could for him, but you are no longer responsible for him. He is his own man.”

“Leave, Qui-Gon.”

“Please, Obi-Wan. If he has to watch you die by inches, at least let him know the  _truth._ He deserves that much, at least.”

“I will die for my filth. I would rather not lose his good opinion too.”

Qui-Gon sighed. “Anakin will not despise you. He's familiar with love that is not wise.”  
Obi-Wan retched, coughed up blood-soaked petals, choking into the night.

Qui-Gon disappeared, and soon Kix was pushing his way into Obi-Wan's tent, shoving the suction device into Obi-Wan's mouth.

Obi-Wan tried to still the fluttering muscles in gut and throat, tried to let the machine do its work.

It did. It cleared his airways, and Kix examined the catchment jar, muttering gloomily to himself.

“You're getting worse,” he finally said. “Much worse.”  
Obi-Wan lay back and tried to ignore the terrible burn in his throat. “How long do I have?”

“Three weeks at most.”

“ _What_ ?”  
Obi-Wan bit back a groan. Too spent to sense more than his own pain, he hadn't noticed Anakin in the doorway.

“You have to _heal_ him, Kix!”  
“I'm sorry, Sir. We've been trying to come up with a cure since the General caught it a year ago, but we've found nothing. We will keep looking.”  
“A year ago?” Anakin asked, the dangerous undertone to his voice that Obi-Wan knew so well.

“Yes, Sir.”

“So who'd you lie to, Obi-Wan? Your best friend or your medic?”  
Obi-Wan's breath escaped him with a rattle. He gagged again, and Kix was there to relieve him.

“This  _isn't_ about Qui-Gon,  _is_ it?” Anakin demanded, moving closer.

Obi-Wan couldn't meet his angry gaze.

“Why would you  _lie_ about that? Why would you—”

And then the temperature around them plummeted, anger and disbelief and  _betrayal_ ringing through the Force.

_He found out. Oh, Force, he found out._ A tear escaped Obi-Wan's tightly clenched lashes.

At least it would only be three weeks, and then Obi-Wan's total loss of dignity would no longer matter.  _And I'll be free from this pain._

He could feel the roots of the plant, piercing through so many of his vital organs. Every step he took hurt, and eating had become pointless.

With death looming ever more imminent, and roots through his digestive system...

It's not like eating had done anything except cause more pain.

He hadn't lost any weight, though. What he'd lost from muscle, he'd gained in plant, keeping his tunics from caving in around him.

“How could you?” Anakin whispered. “You know how much I love her.”

Obi-Wan couldn't bear to open his eyes. “I would never have acted on it. I swear.”

“No,” Kix snarled. “He would rather  _die._ ”

“Out,” Anakin ordered.

“All due respect, but the General's pattern is three sets of gagging. If I'm not here with this,” he waved the device in Anakin's face, “he's going to suffer for quite a bit longer than if I  _help._ And no. You don't have the rank or right to make him endure that.” 

Anakin stared at him, speechless, then back to Obi-Wan.

And then he walked out.

Obi-Wan's shoulders convulsed once, then stilled as more tears slipped free.

So here it was.

_See, Qui-Gon? And now I won't even be able to die a hero._

_I'll just be the old creep who lusted after a man who was supposed to be like a son._

 

* * *

 

Anakin wanted desperately to punch something, but had the strength of will to not.

_If he's coughing up flowers, it means it's_ not  _requited,_ he reminded himself.  _It's not._

Once their long-range comms were no longer jammed, he needed call Padmé, make  _sure_ she didn't know about this. She couldn't know about this.

_Did_ she know about this? Had she not told him?

Maybe it was unrequited, maybe she didn't love him, but did she lust after him?

Anakin scowled.  _How_ could Obi-Wan—

The alarms dragged him from his brooding, and he nearly ran into Rex swinging into his tent. “General Kenobi's worse!”

Anakin sprinted out after him, stunned by the agitated bustle of the clones. Men were pacing, standing still and staring at Obi-Wan's tent, or kicking dents into the ground.

Anakin slipped inside to find his former master seizing, both medics frantically trying to help Obi-Wan get the flowers out of his mouth, and—

_You wanted my wife._

The man he'd trusted, over  _everything, everyone_ else, wanted Anakin's wife.

Anguished gray eyes opened, caught sight of him, flooded with shame.

_He doesn't even claim innocence._ Anakin looked away, half horrified that he felt nothing as he heard his master struggling for life...

But his soul muttered,  _he deserves to die._

And then all was still, except for the quiet, labored breathing of the afflicted one.

Anakin finally looked there, found utter misery in the silent face, the eyelids clenched closed. Saw tears staining face, pillow—

Saw bloodied flower petals everywhere, too many for Kix's device to contain.

He turned to go.

“Please,” Obi-Wan whispered. “Forgive me.”

“ _Why_ ?”

“I am weak, I cannot stop— but I swear to you, I never would have acted on it. I was never going to say anything.”

“No? Not even when you're on Coruscant and I'm not and you're both  _lonely_ ?”

Obi-Wan's eyes squinted open in confusion. “What?”

“Don't give me that. You can't even  _look_ at me, you feel so guilty about something. So  _what is it_ ? Did you frip my wife?”

And  _now_ Obi-Wan stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “What? No—”

“All the petals mean is that she doesn't  _feel_ for you. Doesn't mean you didn't  _do_ anything—”

“I'm not in love with Padmé!” Obi-Wan sputtered, shocked. “What in  _worlds_ gave you that idea?”

“But you said—”

Silence fell as Obi-Wan looked ready to shatter, face twisted in a protracted flinch, waiting for the blow to fall.

The clones except for Kix slipped out of the tent.

The medic stood still, jaw set.

“But you—” Anakin protested, looking from one to the other.

Obi-Wan turned his head away. “Kix. Please sedate me. I want to sleep.”

“Certainly, General.”

“No,” Anakin countered. “ _Wait,_ Kix. Obi-Wan,  _what did you mean by—_ ”

“It's you,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Anakin's mind reeled,  _trying_ to make sense of it—

“You're... in love...  _with me_ ?”

For a long moment there was a painful silence, and then a broken, humiliated, “Yes.”  
Kix had a hypo, brushed it against Obi-Wan's shoulder—

“No,  _wait._ ” Anakin yanked it from his hand with the Force, gripping the small tube tight in his hand. “How can you be in love with  _me_ ?”  
“Same as if it were anyone else? Why mock me? Isn't dying enough punishment?” Obi-Wan sounded bitter.

“Force,  _Obi-Wan—_ ” Anakin's voice faltered. “But I— I love Padmé.”

Obi-Wan's words were nearly inaudible as he whispered, “I know.”

“You're going to  _die_ in three weeks— we have to  _save_ you— if they can't do it  _medically,_ then we find someone else for you to fall in love with—”

Obi-Wan's head turned, staring at him with amazed eyes. “You would have me spend the last days of my life going on a thousand _blind dates_?”

“There has to be— there's  _something,_ there's something, Obi-Wan. You're attracted to some people, right? And— Cody's in love with  _you,_ hell, even Rex is—  _Windu_ is— I know you like Ventress, and she's not Sith anymore, dating a bounty hunter's not so bad, and—”

“Anakin. Stop. Please.”

Anakin shook his head. “I can't just  _stand_ here and watch you  _die_ because of  _me—_ ”

Obi-Wan choked a laugh. It burned Anakin's soul.

“You were ready to end me right here and now when you thought I was after your  _wife._ ”

Anakin felt shame flood his face. “I don't— I wasn't thinking, Obi-Wan.”  
“Just pretend it's true. That it  _is_ Padmé. Three weeks, and you don't have to worry about any of it anymore. Just— let me die in peace.”

“ _No._ You don't get to die.”

“ _Why_ ? Because I'm your  _property_ like your  _wife_ is?”

Anger flared through Anakin. “That is  _not—_ ”

“Kix,  _please._ ”

This time, the medic was so swift Anakin couldn't stop him, and Obi-Wan quickly succumbed to the sedative.

Anakin rounded on Kix with a snarl. “You are  _way_ out of line, Trooper!”

“My patient is dying. It's my job to make it as painless as possible for him. If you want to sit with him, you may, Sir, but for Force's sake figure out how to be kind for when he wakes up.”

And then Kix was out the door and gone.

 

* * *

 

In the dead of the night, sitting by Obi-Wan's struggling body, Anakin realized the answer was simple.

If Obi-Wan couldn't fall in love with someone else while still in love with Anakin...

_He has to fall out of love with me._

Best way to do that?

_Be as unlovable as possible._

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan had hoped to awaken alone.

He was not so lucky.

He found Anakin leaned back in a chair, arms crossed, sneer on his face as he watched him.

“You were moaning in your sleep,” Anakin asserted. “Were you dreaming of sucking me off, or me sucking you off?”

Obi-Wan's eyes widened in alarm and he struggled to sit up.

Anakin was there, pushing him flat against the cot with a hand on his chest.

That's when Obi-Wan realized his trousers were undone.

Anakin saw he noticed and smirked. “Wanted to see if there was anything worth propositioning you for. Sorry. I've had better.”

Obi-Wan fought to squirm away, but the hand was merciless.

“But since you're so eager to be my bitch, I suppose I could frip into your mouth or ass as conveniently as I do my hand, when we're out here on the battlefield.”

_Force, please, stop, please, please stop—_

Anakin had to see the protracted wince of his eyes, of his soul—

Didn't care.

The free hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, extracting a hiss of pain from Obi-Wan.

“To think I ever looked up to you,” Anakin marveled. “All you are is a whore, longing to beg for me to use you any way I see fit.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to call for Kix, but the hand abandoned his hair to clamp over his mouth.

“Maybe I should just  _take_ what you wanted so desperately to offer. Ever think of that? Just hold you down and frip into you, listen to you try to scream, muffled by my hand? You're disgusting, Kenobi, but you might be useful.”  
Obi-Wan fought him, fear rising in his soul. This wasn't— this wasn't  _his_ Anakin, it—

Anakin's hand left his chest to drag down his side, to caress his hip. “So eager for me, you want me to hurt you, to make you sorry, to cleanse you from all the things you've done wrong—”

The tent flap opened, and Anakin pulled away.

Obi-Wan, with terror-ringed eyes, saw Kix walking in.

“Is everything alright, General Kenobi?” he asked, seeing something  _wasn't._

Anakin didn't take his eyes off of Obi-Wan's own. “Oh, yes. Obi-Wan just woke up and is feeling quite relaxed, isn't he?”

Obi-Wan could feel the threat, struggled to cover himself, to fasten his leggings again—

Anakin smiled, a terrible, predatory gleam, and glided from the room.

Obi-Wan lay trembling, his heart breaking, his mind unable to cope.

It was over.

Anakin knew, he  _despised_ Obi-Wan—

And worse...

He wanted to hurt Obi-Wan. Put him in his place.

“Sir?” Kix moved close, lowered his voice, “are you alright?”  
Tears started to Obi-Wan's eyes, so he closed them. “Certainly, Kix.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“All due respect, that  _didn't_ look alright, Sir.”  
“I'm dying, Kix. Nothing's alright.” Obi-Wan dragged himself upright, stumbled from the bed and out of the tent.

 

* * *

 

Cody had convinced Obi-Wan to try to eat a little, and succeeded because of the devastated look on his face when Obi-Wan had brushed it aside. Obi-Wan had little interest in inflicting pain on anyone else, so if gagging some food down would lighten his commander's weight...

Then Obi-Wan would endure the attempt.

He stepped into the mess, the familiar murmur of clone voices washing over him like a caress.

“If it isn't General Brokenheart himself,” Anakin called, a sneer in his voice, the room falling silent before him. “Or should I say General Pedophile?”

Obi-Wan's heart stopped. For a moment that stretched long and twisted, he could see every head swiveled to stare at him, wide eyes, the questions in all of their minds—

And then he realized it hadn't been one moment. Time was slipping past and he just stood there, trying to breathe, the entire room deathly quiet with everyone focused on him.

“I'm  _not_ ,” he choked, face alternating between scarlet and bloodless.

And then he walked out the door, legs feeling as if they would dump him to the floor, not knowing where he was going, just blindly fleeing—

“General!”

Obi-Wan kept walking.

“General Kenobi! Please!”

_No, no, leave me alone, just let me—_

“All due respect, Sir, what the _hell_ was that back there?” Fives stepped into his path, Echo beside him.

Obi-Wan stared at them, unable to find words.

“Why would General Skywalker  _do_ something like that? Say something so  _clearly_ false?”  
Obi-Wan felt the tear escape to scald down his cheek. The clones stared at it in horror and something akin to panic. This Jedi didn't  _cry,_ he—

“What  _do_ you call a man who's fallen in love with his former Padawan? Would an accusation of incest been any less painful to hear?” Obi-Wan lowered his head, moved to walk around them—

Fives stepped in his path again. “Sir, General Skywalker is a grown man. And he's not your Padawan  _anymore._ ”  
“He will  _always_ be my Padawan,” Obi-Wan whispered. “You're kind, Fives, Echo— but please. I need to be alone right now.”

“Banthakark.”  
Obi-Wan stiffened at Rex's argument, coming from behind him. “Captain—”

“Nothing justifies what he just did.”  
“You have no idea,” Obi-Wan shot back, spinning around. “You don't  _know_ me, you only see what I let all of you see—”

“Sir, that is  _not_ true,” Rex retorted, heated now. “You're being unfair to yourself and to us. We're better judges of character than you give us credit for.”

“ _Oh_ ? And how many of you know that over the last two months I've been  _seeing my dead master,_ and I've started having  _conversations_ with him?”

Rex's eyes went wide with shock. “Didn't know Jedi could do that, Sir.”

“They  _can't,_ Rex, I'm losing my  _mind._ I  _argue_ with a dead man. And I'm coughing up flower petals that can't be explained in any scientific, rational way— how do you know I'm not stuffing them down my throat when you're not looking? Perhaps  _that_ is where they come from, ever think of that?”

Rex's face twisted with what looked like a grimace to try to hide a smile of amusement. “Sir, Kix is worried to pieces about you. His surveillance is perhaps more invasive than it should be, but he would be  _aware_ if you were putting unnatural things in your mouth.”

“I'm being punished by the universe, Rex. It's killing me. My crime will be paid for in blood.”

Fives moved so he could see Obi-Wan's face again. “That's not what's happening, Sir. It's love not returned, not a  _punishment_ . And since when did the universe care about right and wrong? You assigning some deity to nature, now, Sir? Because I was under the impression Jedi didn't believe that way. If you're going to change your belief system, at least do it for a better reason than because it might help convince  _us_ that you're a villain.”

“Frip off,” he murmured, almost listlessly.  
Three startled clones watched as he walked away.

“What do we do, Sir?” Echo asked Rex.

_Whatever you want. Whatever you think is right._

_Just let me die in peace._

 

* * *

 

Peace wasn't something that was going to be allowed him, it seemed.

Fives had taken it upon himself to find every example of Jedi who had fallen in love who had also been master and apprentice in the past. As well as examples of lovers with a decade between them in age.

He wasn't particularly subtle about the sharing of said information.

Kix kept hovering over him, clearly believing Obi-Wan was in an abusive situation and trying desperately to convince Obi-Wan to speak to him about it as well as sending rather blatant body-language signals to Anakin that he'd better not hurt Obi-Wan any  _more._

And Anakin...

Anakin would argue with everything he said in strategy meetings, discount his contributions, ridicule him, speak over the top of him, and disobey every order and go against every suggestion Obi-Wan gave on the battlefield.

When walking past him in a hallway, Anakin would ram into his shoulder, throwing him into the wall.

And as Obi-Wan collapsed to his knees on a burning battlefield, choking his lungs out, Anakin stood beside him and deflected the blasterfire that would have ended him, scorn and disgust pouring off him in the Force.

Obi-Wan struggled to pull the petals from his throat, near suffocating—

But all he could see was that Anakin was protecting him when he wished he didn't have to. The man he loved wanted to walk away and just let him die here.

But he was refusing to.

_Because he doesn't want to be like me._

Obi-Wan survived the floral assault, was carried away by worried clones.

Cody sat by his side that night through hours of sleepless agony. Obi-Wan tried to convince him to to  _go,_ to  _sleep—_

But his commander wouldn't leave him.

And Qui-Gon stood at the foot of the bed, watching him with such sorrowful eyes—

_Yes. I want to frip the boy you entrusted to my care. And now you're here to accuse me, to kill me._

_Please,_ please  _just hurry up and get on with it._

In the end he feigned sleep, since his men wanted him so desperately to find it, and he hated the thought of disappointing them again. He'd been a disappointment to so many people in his life...

Let them think he slept.

Unless he lived long enough for his body to shut down from extreme exhaustion, Obi-Wan knew he wouldn't be sleeping again in this life.

Somehow he doubted he'd be sleeping in the next, either.

 

* * *

 

They were cruel, those last weeks.

The clones, fighting for him; his love, fighting to make him suffer.

His soul, collapsing in on itself and dying.

Qui-Gon, speaking gentle, loving words— words he  _never_ would have said were he truly here—

_Proof I'm hallucinating, because he would despise me for what I've become._

He knew his final day was here when he opened his eyes and saw he hadn't fooled the men gathered by his cot.

They knew he hadn't slept.

_Today is the day it ends._

He'd expected to feel caged, that he would  _want_ to live—

But all he felt was relief that it would be over soon. The excruciating feel of flowers crawling up his throat, the pain inflicted by the roots that had turned his perforated organs septic.

He stood in the doorway of the tent and looked back at the loving faces watching him with both grief and  _knowing._

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan murmured. “For everything you did and tried to do.”  
A sob caught in someone's throat, Obi-Wan wasn't sure whose.

“I'll leave my locater beacon on, so you can find the body.”

“Let us come with you,” Kix rasped. “Please.”  
Obi-Wan met his gaze with a calm that seemed to break the medic's heart. “This is something I want to do alone.”

“You want to die alone?” Cody asked, sounding broken.

“I've lost almost all dignity, any self-respect I had. I'm going to choke to death, Cody. I've seen it happen to others, I— it's messy. It's— I have tatters of dignity left, for just a few hours more, and I'd rather not have anyone bearing witness when they're ripped from my fingers. It's selfish, Cody, and I'm sorry—” He paused, throat closing and not from petals, tears blurring his vision. “Let me have this one last failure, since there are no more victories for me.”  
They did not stop him as he left.

They did not follow.

He directed his steps away from the camp, up into the hills, only stopping when he could no longer see the bustle of the army.

Here, in the quiet, beneath gently rustling trees, beside a still pond.

_Here,_ Obi-Wan decided.  _Here I make my final stand._

He spread his cloak on the grass and sat on it, back to the tree trunk, watching insects skitter across the surface of the water, the light catching in their jewel-like wings.

Slowly, he became aware of Qui-Gon sitting beside him.

“Here to watch me die?” Obi-Wan asked, dark humor in his tone.

Qui-Gon reached out fingers to brush against his cheek, but Obi-Wan couldn't feel them.

_Because they do not exist._

“I could not leave you to face this alone. This is not the end I wanted for you, my Padawan. I am sorry.”  
“I trained the boy. And I managed to keep my hands to myself.” Obi-Wan's voice was bitter in his own ears. “'sall that matters now, isn't it. I kept my promise and I didn't harm him. It would have been nice to die before he realized how pathetic I am. It would have been nice to have been remembered fondly.” A tear slipped down his cheek. “Now I'm just the man who betrayed his friendship and trust.”  
“He doesn't see it that way.”  
“I left the others behind so I wouldn't have to endure this, the pathetic lies meant to make me feel better. I can't seem to leave you behind. Please just stop now. If you want to help me, hold your silence.”

He did.

Thank the Force, thank his own insanity, but he did.

He was so tired,  _so_ tired—

He pushed away from the tree trunk, lying down on his cloak, back to the world, eyes to the pond. The breeze lightly caressed his fevered cheek, gentle, soothing.

The war seemed an eternity away.

“I love you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon murmured. “Rest now.”

_Finally. Being helpful._

He probably would have fallen asleep if it hadn't taken so much effort to simply breathe. Even so, the exhaustion might win.

_How much worse is it to suffocate while asleep than while awake?_

Or had he gotten the question backwards?

He didn't think it mattered.

And then panic shattered the quiet of his sanctuary. Not his own, not Qui-Gon's—

Force,  _no._

Please no.

He'd been able to forget for a moment how much he hated himself.

Now...

_At least I had a time of peace before._

Rough hands dragged him up, propped him against the tree. He retched, the sudden change in position shifting the petals in his lungs. He brought up blood, but no flowers— they were too stuck, not ready—

“Stay with me,” Anakin demanded, lightly slapping his cheek.

The mere sound of his voice hurt, so  _much._ “Go away.”

“No, no,  _no._ Haven't I been  _evil_ enough? Why are you still in love with me?” Anakin sounded broken and desperate. “I tried  _everything_ , you can't  _possibly_ love me still—”

Obi-Wan dragged his eyelids open to stare at the man hovering over him.

A laugh gurgled in his throat. “Is that what you were doing?”  
“Loving me was going to  _kill_ you and you refused to love anyone  _else—_ ”

“Force, you're stupid.” Obi-Wan panted, trying to overcome the physical pain with oxygen, but the method was flawed, so the results were the opposite—

“Yes,  _yes,_ but  _please don't die—_ I'll do  _anything,_ I just— I  _need_ you in my life, Obi-Wan, I  _love_ you, please, why can't what I feel for you be  _enough_ ?”

“You said it, these past weeks.” Obi-Wan gave him a small, sorry smile. “I'm a selfish bastard who saw youth and beauty and wanted to mar it.”

Anakin whimpered. “It's not _true,_ Obi-Wan. _Please_ believe me.”  
“So much of what you said, I knew to be true in my own heart. And so much of what you did, I knew I deserved. It's alright, Anakin. I don't begrudge it to you. You haven't wronged me.”  
Anakin gathered him in his arms, making soothing shushing noises.

“You don't have to hold me,” Obi-Wan protested through blood on his tongue. “I know how disgusting I am— You can just sit nearby, if you feel you must watch.”

“No. If I can't save you, at least you won't die alone.”  
And then he was retching uncontrollably, bringing up bile and blood, and finally, after an eternity of heaving, petals.

And the petals didn't end.

He thrashed in Anakin's ever-tightening arms, shuddered through the pain, through the oxygen deprivation, through Anakin's tears falling on his face and Qui-Gon's broken soothing, through darkness crowding the corners of his vision and turning the world into black-flecked gray—

Through the desperate need to  _breathe_ and the petals bubbling up, more than his lungs could have held, more than his entire body could have held, more—

He saw flashes of white as there were too many for the blood to coat them all—

 

* * *

 

General Skywalker never spoke of what happened that morning on the hillside when General Kenobi died.

The clones waited, massed together, watching for his return.

After an eternity he came, bearing in his arms the cloak-wrapped corpse, blood-streaked white petals fluttering behind, falling to form a coarse trail.

He was quieter, after that day. Some of the casual arrogance that had followed him around as long as they'd known him disappeared.

Less sure of victory. Slower to mock the Jedi who admitted to doubt.

More faraway and grim.

The clones weren't sure how to survive their loss, and neither was their Jedi.

Now, when Anakin turned his head, a flash of silver sometimes caught the eye.

He'd never been one for jewelry, and this seemed to be his one exception to the rule, though his clothing always covered whatever was at the end of the chain.

Rex wasn't surprised when during an unexpected early-morning attack he caught sight of just what it was through the flaps of Skywalker's unclasped tunic as they fought for their lives.

A durasteel rose petal, a red stain streaking its lower half, as if it had been dragged through something.

And Rex wasn't sure it was paint.

 

* * *

 

Gentle hands brushed Obi-Wan's cheeks as he slowly regained awareness of his surroundings.

He felt a bit disoriented as he realized they were different.

Qui-Gon pulled him in close, holding him tight.

“Obi-Wan, I need you to listen to me. You only have a few moments to decide. I can teach you how to hold your soul together here, so you can keep watch over Anakin—”

“Or I lose consciousness forever?”

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan's smile was somehow radiant, even if his lips barely curved upward. “Goodbye.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“I'm glad I got to feel your arms around me, one last time.”  
“It could be more than one last time— it could be many times—”

“I don't want to live forever, Master. I'm ready. Please let me go.”  
Qui-Gon held him close, form shuddering with quiet grief. “I've missed you, Obi-Wan.”  
“And I, you. But it was your dream to live forever, not mine. I'm alright. Don't worry about me anymore.” Obi-Wan felt the drag against his being, the siren call of the Force, beckoning its child home. “I'm finally alright.”

He surrendered, shattering into an infinite scatter of light and life—

And at long last, he found peace.

 

* * *

 

Padmé wasn't sure where the rosevine had come from.

It hadn't been there...

And then it  _was,_ in a secluded nook in the garden on Naboo.

The thorns of it were almost frighteningly sharp, and as she looked at the full, drooping blossoms, she felt a deep sadness and had no idea why. It almost hurt to look at it, petals falling to the stone path to be trampled, though the flowers hadn't wilted yet—

Why was it losing its petals?

Somehow, it... frightened her, and she couldn't understand why.

She went back to Coruscant, only to find a rosevine clinging to the side of the apartment's outside wall. A place where nothing should be able to survive,  _it_ did, and nothing seemed able to kill it. Not the toxins in the air, not the traffic going past, not the cleaning droids that tended the outsides of the buildings—

When Anakin first caught sight of it, he went pale as death, uncontrollably trembling.

“What is it? What's wrong?”

He'd only shaken his head, and held out a reverent hand to touch one of the blossoms.

Where his fingers had brushed, the white bruised, and the flower fell apart, petals scattering across the balcony.

Anakin barely made it to the railing before losing the contents of his stomach.

Stunned, Padmé moved to rub his back. “What is it?”  
“It's Obi-Wan.”

“The  _plant_ is Obi-Wan?”  
“Not enough to save me,” Anakin murmured, near inaudible. “Only enough to...”

“Enough to  _what_ ?”

He shook his head again. “I don't think it's going to hurt us.”  
“Why would Obi-Wan want to hurt us?”

He turned dead eyes to her face. “We killed him.”

And he refused to elaborate.

In the early months, the rosevine unsettled her. It had come from nowhere, wouldn't leave, and it responded... so  _much._ But a touch and a flower near exploded, its white beauty veined with brown.

And then it became so much worse.

One evening she'd been crying, silent tears whispering down her cheeks as she thought of the failing of her latest attempt to stop the war, of the lives that would be lost because of it. And... the unborn child within her, Anakin so far out of communication that he didn't even  _know_ yet—

A brush against her hand brought her head up, thinking Anakin must have returned to Coruscant early—

Instead she found a delicate, green tendril against her skin.

She jerked away, heart pounding as she stared at the vine.

It shouldn't have— she deliberately kept  _away_ from it, there's  _no way_ the wind could have—

The tendril wilted, drooping lifeless as she watched, its vibrant green turning muddy.

“What  _are_ you?” she demanded. “What do you  _want_ ?”  
A flower trembled, then fell, shattering against the floor.

“I'm sorry,” she said, quieter this time, somehow knowing yelling at the plant resulted in loss. “I don't know how to deal with this, I've never been haunted by a plant before, and to be perfectly honest, you're  _terrifying._ And there's something  _wrong_ with those thorns. And every time I'm out here it feels like you're watching me.”

_And now I'm talking to a vine._

“I feel  _ashamed_ when I stand here,  _in my own home,_ and I don't even know  _why._ Almost to the point where I want to  _move_ to somewhere else, but why do I get the impression  _you'd be there too_ ?” Padmé shuddered. “Please. I don't know what you want from me.”  
It didn't reply.

Of course it didn't.

 

* * *

“Anakin. I need you to be honest with me about the rosevine.”

Anakin raised alarmed eyes to her face. “What about it?”  
“What is it?”  
“I don't know.”  
“I don't think you believe that. I think you _know,_ somewhere inside, it just feels... impossible.”

He paled again.

“If it's Obi-Wan, our  _friend,_ your  _father,_ why is it scaring me?”  
“He—” Anakin looked away. “He didn't want to be my father.”

“What?”

“He wanted— he was in love with me, Padmé.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

“He hid it, never said anything, because he knew I loved you, and he didn't want to compete with you, and he didn't want to hurt me. He didn't want me to have to choose between which of you I got to keep. He wanted to allow me to keep both.”

Dread filled Padmé's heart. “Dear Force.”  
“I don't think he would hurt you,” Anakin protested. “It's not sentient, he hasn't reincarnated as the plant, the plant isn't  _thinking—_ ”

“You just try spending months alone in this house and try telling me that again, Anakin Skywalker!”

Anakin shook his head, miserable. “I can't kill it,” he whimpered. “Please don't make me kill it.”  
“What? And bring his wrath down on us? Do you think I  _haven't_ seen my fair share of haunting holos?” Padmé demanded. “The fact that it  _isn't_ fully Obi-Wan isn't something to find  _comforting,_ it's exactly the opposite. Obi-Wan wouldn't hurt us, but a vague reflection of him that does not answer to him might.”

“Padmé, I— it hurts to see it.”

“I wonder if we lived on the bottom of an ocean, if it would survive the salt water to haunt us.”  
Anakin shook his head, hopelessness in his eyes. “You'd find it growing  _inside_ the house, then. At least now it's respecting boundaries.”

“Says the man who's never here. If it hurts to  _see_ it, why do you go and  _look_ at it every time you come home?”

“Because for over a year he stood by me, watched my back, endured everything by my side, and  _suffered._ I can endure a little pain, after all he went through in order to make sure he's not forgotten.”

Padmé threw her hands in the air. “Yes, Anakin. Unrequited love hurts. But please, must it  _punish_ us the rest of our lives?”  
“That's not why it's here,” Anakin protested, sounding horrified. “It's here because Obi-Wan belongs with  _me,_ no matter what form he's taken. He's one with the Force now, Padmé, he's manifesting in a million tiny ways. I'm surprised there's one  _visible,_ but there's a thousand other examples of him gravitating to me that we can't recognize.”

A chill ran down Padmé's back. “Are you trying to make sure I never look in a mirror again? Why can't he leave us in peace? If he didn't want to be competition, why is he trying to undo me?”  
“He can't _think,_ now.” Anakin stood, reaching out to soothe his wife. “It's not malevolent.”  
“Why do you wear that necklace?” she asked in a whisper. “And why is it stained in blood?”  
Anakin gave a grieved nod. “I have to remember, Padmé. Something that we can't explain happened to him. The legend about the flowers— it happened to him.”

“He died in battle,” Padmé argued, eyes widening.

“No. He died suffocating on white rose petals.”

Padmé caught up her shawl and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Anakin called, sounding plaintive.

“I'm escaping. Before the same thing happens to  _us._ ”

“No, Padmé, I  _promise—_ ”

“I suppose you promised  _him_ he'd be alright too. And now he's haunting us with the  _flowers that killed him_ and you  _don't_ think we'll be coughing them up soon too?”

“No. I don't.”

She paused in the doorway, trembling.

“And where will you go?” he pointed out. “Naboo?”

“It was there too,” she whispered.

His eyes widened. “ _What_ ?”  
“That's where I first saw it. It's why I wanted to cut short our time there and return here.”

“Only to find it here too,” Anakin breathed.

Padmé gave a grim nod. “You said then that we killed him. Do you know what happens to murderers when they're haunted, Anakin? They die.  _Horribly._ ”

“It's me he wants,” Anakin murmured. “You'd have to leave me. Forever.”

Padmé froze.

“There's one in the Temple, too. Right outside my window. And there's one in the Resolute. It's growing out of the sink in my refresher. The 212 th won't let anyone touch it. The men come to visit it when they're afraid or grieving or don't know what to do.”

She couldn't speak a word.

“He died because I couldn't give him a love that already was yours,  _forever_ is yours. He would have lied to me to the end to conceal that from me, so that I could be  _happy_ with you. You  _leaving me_ for fear of him is not what he would have wanted.”

“Then perhaps he shouldn't be so terrifying.”

“It's the shattered pieces of a man who died choking on inexplicable  _flowers._ The whole thing is warped and scary. Padmé, I saw more petals come out of him than could have fit  _inside_ him even if his body had been hollowed out and they'd been packed in methodically. And you know what? No one was more scared than  _him._ He was terrified, he'd suffered so much  _physical_ pain, he just wanted peace, and to be near me.”

“ _Show_ me, then.  _Prove_ it's not going to strangle me in my sleep, Anakin, because I can't  _sleep anymore,_ for fear it's going to steal in through my window or door!”

Anakin nodded. “I've got something. Come. Please?”  
Padmé followed him with reluctant feet to the balcony.

She found every flower the vine possessed smashed on the floor.

“He doesn't like it when we fight. See? You nearly walked out that door. If he wanted you gone, and to have me for himself, he wouldn't have responded in sorrow. He didn't—  _doesn't—_ want to divide us.”

Padmé shook her head. “The thorns alone could kill.”

“The thorns alone  _did._ ” Anakin stepped closer, careful not to tread on the fallen, brown flowers. He didn't touch the plant; instead, he stood close, filled his lungs with oxygen, and began to sing.

Padmé watched, unconvinced, as Anakin finished the first verse of the lullaby and started in on the second.

And then a tremor passed through the leaves.

Anakin kept singing.

A few leaves here and there brushed aside, as if by a fickle wind, uncovering small buds.

As Anakin went through the chorus the second time, one began to open.

At first, Padmé didn't believe her eyes.

That rapidly had to change.

Tendrils reached for his face, lightly brushed against his cheek. He didn't shy away. Instead, he finished the song, and murmured in a soothing, hypnotic tone, “I miss you. The clones miss you. The Temple misses you. You are always welcome here.”

The tendrils pulled away, but they didn't die as Padmé was accustomed to. Instead, they swayed in the wind, the vine covered in newly-blown blossoms.

The centers of which were a blood red.

_They should be yellow._

They weren't.

“Please,” Anakin whispered. “Don't drive him away.”

“You're asking me to share you with a plant?”

“The plant is not at odds with you.”

“It tried to grab me when I was crying.”

“It was probably trying to comfort you.”  
Padmé studied her husband's face. Did she love him enough to try to accept the ghost that came with him? A shiver ran down her arms.

“I'm going to try, Anakin. But you have no idea how hellish it is to live alone with such a creature.”

“I'm sorry.”  
She nodded. “I suppose I knew going into it that life with a Jedi would be different.”

“Yes, well, this isn't normal, even for us. There's plants in the Temple that are too smart, too sensitive, but they aren't—”

Padmé raised an eyebrow at him, and Anakin cursed.

“You think  _they_ might be pieces of long-dead Jedi too—?” Anakin let out a shaky breath. “I'm not sure I'm going to be able to set foot in the Room of a Thousand Fountains again.”

Padmé quirked a smile at him. “Alright. Let's get dinner, and then bed. At least he didn't install himself at the bedroom window.”

“He has a sense of decorum even death can't shake,” Anakin murmured, with a heartbreaking almost-smile.

Padmé moved to hug him, watching the vine carefully over his shoulder the while. It didn't seem  _angry..._

Then again...

What would an angry rose look like?

 

* * *

 

The next week was a matter of strict endurance.

Padmé endured it because she loved Anakin.

And then she began to accept the sensation of not being alone. Stopped fighting it. She found herself directing comments to the plant, and it seemed to thrive as she did.

It didn't overtake her balcony, it didn't spread, but it looked healthier, the leaves covering the vine more thickly, the flowers a little more sturdy. They still died at a touch, but the entire plant didn't shudder as if it might rot away in response.

 

* * *

 

The night Sidious came for her was one Padmé would never forget.

The feeling of total helplessness, the knowledge this had  _happened_ before, in her  _office,_ why could she never  _remember_ that— what was he  _doing_ to her unborn  _baby—?_

Anakin was a galaxy away, she couldn't cry out for help, couldn't move, could barely breathe—

And then blood was pouring down over the bed, the Sith was screaming, trying to fend something off, and Padmé was released from her paralysis. She grabbed the blaster from under the bed and put seven bolts in the head and chest of the invader before she even turned the light on.

The light revealed a very dead Sith—  _Palpatine,_ for Force's sake—

Wicked thorns had cut open his arms, face, chest, back, legs—

Brutal, as deeply as they could go, like barbed wire wrapped tight around him to cut deeper the more he'd struggled.

Padmé stared down at what had saved her, saw a black decay seemed to have infected the tendrils where they touched Palpatine's blood.

In alarm, she raced for the balcony just in time to see the last flower fall.

“ _No_ !” Padmé lunged forward, caught it with trembling hands before it hit the tile.

For a moment it remained there, perfect, beautiful, and then it perished in her hands.

She stared up at the dead vine, clinging limply to the side of the apartment. A breath of wind passed, and the vine fell away, falling, falling, falling—

Padmé watched it, wondering hollowly where its corpse would land.

 

* * *

 

Anakin was shocked to find the vine in his sink dead.

He returned home to more shocks.

The vines at Temple and apartment were dead too. So was Palpatine. A Sith trying to harm the children,  _his_ children—

Padmé lay asleep, the battles of the Senate over for the night, and Anakin slipped out of bed to go to the balcony.

It felt empty, now, without its guardian.

“Thank you,” Anakin whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. “ _Thank you._ ”

He was met by nothing.

Utter silence.

 

* * *

 

They returned to Naboo to have the baby, and Anakin had barely set foot on solid ground before he was hastening to the arbor hidden in the back of the garden.

But the vine hung dead and rotten there too.

He sank to the seat and lowered his head in his hands.

“It hurt to have you here, but it's worse with you gone,” he whispered. “Maybe it hurt to stay, or maybe you felt nothing, but—  _Force_ I miss you.”

 

* * *

 

Anakin didn't know why he brought his son back here, to see a dead vine over an arbor.

_He's the reason you aren't living under an empire, Luke. He's the reason you still have a mother._

_He did that even though she was the reason he couldn't have me._

His throat closed and Luke's eyes opened, concerned blue finding his father's.

_Too aware, for one so young._ Anakin gave a watery smile down at the precious bundle of life.

Luke gurgled, hand waving.

Anakin nudged his nose against the fingers, but that apparently wasn't what they'd been after, because they pulled away and kept waving... without grabbing Anakin's hair.

That, at least, was a relief.

Something brushed the back of Anakin's neck, stopping his heart.

Holding Luke close against his chest he slowly turned, terrified of what he might  _not_ find.

There, growing out of a crack in an ancient, mostly-broken wall, was a tiny green sprout.

Luke smiled and reached for it, and Anakin would swear, years later, that the plant reached back.

“That's Obi-Wan, Luke,” Anakin choked. “That's Obi-Wan, and he loves you even though he can't think anymore. He loves you even though you aren't his. And if ever I can't, he will watch over you even though he no longer sees. Because that's who he is, Luke. And if you grow up to have a heart that has a tenth of his compassionate capacity to love with no thought to reward, I will be proud of the man you become.”

 

* * *

 

It was many years later, when Leia walked forward on her wedding day.

White roses crowned her hair.

Everyone who saw them marveled, because they knew the roses never survived the touch of a hand.

Only Leia knew how she'd gained them.

She'd traveled alone to the arbor to whisper her hopes and fears of the coming ceremony into the comforting leaves of a plant. Had asked for courage.

It had dropped blossoms into her hands, their perfume so precious and wistful it brought tears to the eyes of those beholding them, though they could never tell why.

Those who tried to explain usually ended with the words, “It was too beautiful. It was too much.”

Leia felt the flowers to be a blessing, a kiss from a father she might have had, in another life.

Her parents had never admitted who Obi-Wan was to them, but Leia  _knew._ When she stilled her heart and listened to the wind in those leaves, she could not help but know.

The fact that he'd given her a gift he'd given no one for her wedding day filled her heart with a quiet joy and peace.

And when she looked to her living father, she could see tears of gratitude in his eyes, too.

Leia wrapped her arms around her spouse and leaned up into a kiss, feeling the petals slide from her hair to fall in a white waterfall around them.

They would bruise and fade away...

But the warmth they had imparted in her heart would forever remain.

 

* * *

 

_A thousand years later another Skywalker fought in another war, an ancient heirloom around his neck and his family's coat-of-arms on his shield._

_The blood-drenched rose went into battle before him, and the mysterious vine that followed him from home to home watched over him at night._

_Many took the time and effort to explain it away and to measure it, but at the end of the day it remained while the philosophers and scholars died out, their voices long silenced._

_Skywalkers knew the secret._

_Skywalkers would always know the secret._

_The vine was the love of Kenovi, a warrior of ancient times. Stronger than life, stronger than death, it watched over all in whose veins ran Skywalker blood._

_And it always would._

_Never would there be a Skywalker without a Kenovi._

_Never._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did baby Luke's giggle call together enough of Obi-Wan's scattered essence to form another vine? 
> 
> Yes.
> 
> Did historical record devolve into myth and legend, including a new spelling for Obi-Wan's last name? 
> 
> Yes.
> 
> And do roses with terrible thorns cover Anakin's grave? 
> 
> Forevermore.


End file.
